As the door latched with a soft click, Spike turned to see the wave of shock as it went through all of their faces. He read them all so easily, and as he took it all in, he knew he would miss them.

He looked at each of them, drinking them in. It was amazing how full of light they were. Each facet of the emotions on their faces cast a different shadow and always had. Reading emotions was as easy for him as looking at a painting.

And what he saw amazed him.

It was all there. In their faces he saw sadness, fear, anger, regret, awe, respect and pride.

He saw a myriad of emotions on their faces. But underneath it all, there was one commonality. They were all proud of him, in their own way- all of them.

The very idea of it made him giddy, and it horrified him. He took a deep breath to clear his head as his eyes fastened on Dawn and he walked slowly to meet her. She began shaking her head slightly as his intent became clear, “No,” she said softly, her eyes downcast, “don’t you dare…”

“Bit…” he began, his voice barely a whisper.

Dawn’s bright gaze met his, “I’m counting on you to finish that story,” she choked out.

“I know,” he nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, “And, I want to finish it. If I don’t…” his jaw twitched when he saw water pooling in her eyes. The emotions that he was fighting made words difficult. So, his words failing him, Spike pulled her into a gentle embrace and kissed her on the forehead as he pulled back. Clearing his throat, trying to ignore the tiny hitch in her breathing as he pulled away, he continued, his eyes as soft and clear as the morning sky, “I assume some of the dent you put in Daddy’s charge card was for me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dawn nodded, her voice barely audible.

“Well then,” he smirked, “no reason it should go to waste. I’ll follow you up in a few minutes,” he nodded toward the staircase, “Go on then.”

She turned to go, walking slowly, trying to delay leaving him because she knew in her heart that she might not see him again, and stopped at the base of the stairs, turning her glistening eyes back to him, “Spike I…”

“I know, Bit.”

As she climbed the stairs, he could hear her whispering to him, so that only he could hear, “He better not kill you, ‘cause if he does, I am so gonna hate you. You know that?”

He smirked sadly as he watched her go. Then, he turned and smiled at Panya.

“Well, my friend,” Spike watched Panya’s eyes glisten with awe and a touch of excitement, “I think you already know what I want from you.”

“I do, Simba. Do not worry.”

“Panya, msimulizi,” Spike said as he winked at Panya, clasping his shoulder.

“They will know of it. This I do promise. They will know of ’Kivuli isakuwa angaa.’”

Spike laughed in surprise, his left brow quirking in silent questioning, “ ‘Angaa’? You’re sure about that, are you?”

“Yes,” he nodded enthusiastically, “I am.”

“That makes one of us, then…” his voice trailed off as the poetry of the thing hit him and he thought of that night, so long ago, and what might have been, “… If only…” he whispered, turning his attention to Giles.

The two stood silent for a long moment, each studying the other. Each trying to find in the other something of what had been lost to them both. Spike opened his mouth to speak, but the emotion of the time they had spent together overwhelmed him, and he found that he could not bring himself to speak.

He could not bring himself to say goodbye. Yet, he knew that he had to say something and his jaw tightened in self –reproach as the poet once again lost his words.

He hung his head, still unable to speak.

Giles’s soft, caring voice rescued him yet again, “I understand,” he said, “There’s no need. Because, you will be back.”

Kindred eyes met his in gratitude, and Spike said gruffly, “Damn right, I will.”

“I second that,” Buffy spoke up, her voice tight with agitation, “And, I would really appreciate it so much,” she set a blazing, challenging gaze on Spike, almost daring him. With her arms crossed defiantly at her chest she raised her chin and continued, “if you would stop this, right now. Dawn’s right. This sounds too much like ‘Goodbye’ to me. And, we both know,” her mouth quirked in an echo of the smirk she’d seen so many times on Spike’s face last year when she’d tried to make him go away. No way in Hell, Love was what it said to her, and now she put her voice behind it, to prove to him what she already knew, “that there’s no way in Hell you’re going anywhere.”

There was a mixture of trepidation and amusement in Spike’s expression when he found his voice again, the reply came softly, as though her confidence had awed him, “Buffy, there’s no way to know that…”

“Yes there is,” she stopped him, “I know. And I know because you’re ‘Spike.’ The bane of almost my entire run as the Slayer…”

His head tilted quizzically at her, and she approached him, her stance softening, her whole body conveying venerability; something she had never allowed, while in the company of others, before, “Spike,” she spoke softly, breathing in his scent as she kissed the flesh of his neck. She was rewarded for this softness by a low growl that rose from deep within him. It seemed to almost be a purr, and she smiled, speaking softly to him, her eyes closed as she tried to memorize him; because she knew that this might be goodbye, no matter how much she might want it to be otherwise, “…floods could come. Earthquakes, fires…a nuclear war…and you would still be here,” she pulled back slightly, and pulled his glazed eyes down between them and placed her hand at her heart as she spoke, her voice barely loud enough to disturb the air between them, “You’d still be here, Spike.”

Her words were enough to revitalize his purpose. He had her heart, and that was all he needed to take with him. It was all he needed to defeat any foe.

Including, if he had to, Angelus- whom he knew still waited for him outside.